A Picture's Worth
by a.lakewood
Summary: Dean comes across an arousing jeans ad in a magazine in a hospital waiting room - he's shocked to discover it's his brother. They argue and Dean tells Sam to quit. They don't speak of it again...until the pictures start up half a year later. WINCEST.


**Title**: A Picture's Worth [1/1]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Wincest. Slight spoilers for _Dark Side of the Moon._  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Word Count**: 4300+  
**Summary**: After Dean's injured on a hunt, he finds himself in a hospital waiting room where he comes across an arousing jeans ad in a magazine and is shocked to discover that it's his brother. He argues with Sam about it, tells him to quit, and they never speak about it again. Sam goes off to college and the pictures start up again. Dean can't take it and there's only one thing he can do.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.  
**A/N**: Written for **blackat_t7t** on LJ, based on the bunny she left over at **spn_bunnies**: _Wincest or gen- In college, Sam needed to get money (no, this is not a hooker bunny), so he started working for a modeling agency. One day (either before or after Sam leaves Stanford), Dean is flipping through old waiting room magazines while in the hospital getting some hunting-related injuries looked at, and finds his little brother's picture in a jeans ad, shirtless and very sexy._

**oxoxo**

Dean sat in the over-crowded hospital waiting room, left arm cradled protectively against his chest, watching the snow melt off his boots to leave dark patches on the worn, blue carpet. The room had been just as full when he'd entered an hour before, but every time somebody left, someone new would enter in some crazy, only-in-a-big-city cycle. It was mostly sniffling, coughing kids with tired-looking parents and they all looked the same – he wasn't sure where he stood in the shuffle anymore.

It was slow going. And if he wasn't so certain that he'd broken something during the previous night's hunt, he wouldn't even have bothered with the hospital, and the sneaking out of the motel room it entailed. Yet, there he was with what he thought might be a broken arm.

A lady with a colicky baby across from him was called and somebody else entered the front door, letting in a blast of freezing air.

He sat up a little straighter in his uncomfortable plastic chair and reached for the wrinkled slew of magazines on the table beside him. He pushed aside _Family Circle, National Geographic,_ and _People_, a bright blue headline on the corner of a buried magazine catching his eye: "20 Tips and Tricks to a Mind-Blowing Orgasm." He surreptitiously glanced around the packed waiting room, no one was paying him any mind, and pulled the magazine from its hiding place. A _Cosmo._ Of course. Regardless, he tossed the magazine into his lap and started browsing through it, eyes scanning numbers for page 182, when a Calvin Klein ad caught his attention.

Dean wasn't normally one to check out other guys – especially half-naked, barely (if at all) eighteen year old guys – with sinfully low-slung jeans, all taut abs and cut-lines, defined biceps and hairless chest. But there was something familiar about the kid in the picture, even if his face was hidden in the shadow cast by his elbow and the fact that he was looking down. And, shit, Dean had to turn the page because he was starting to _react_ to the kid's body and fuck if that didn't make him feel a little dirty.

Dirty didn't even begin to _cover_ it when he turned the page only to realize the ad was part of a four-page spread and Dean got his first glimpse of the guy's face. Deep-dimpled grin on display somehow more attractive than that well-defined body.

Sam. Holy _fuck._ Dean tore the pages from the magazine and hastily folded them away, wondering if, maybe, he'd gotten a concussion from his fall, too. But his mental freak-out was interrupted by a nurse in pale purple scrubs calling his name from the doorway on the far wall.

**oxo**

Dean left the hospital in a sling, his fall from a second story window leaving him with a sprained wrist and a hyper-extended elbow. It would've been worse, would have really broken something, if the ginormous bush hadn't been there to cushion his landing with plentiful, thorned branches.

He focused on navigating the slushy streets of suburban Chicago instead of the glossy pages folded into his jacket pocket, didn't know what he was going to say to his brother. But he found himself parked in the space outside their motel room door much too soon and he just sat there as the minutes passed. He didn't know what else to do, he was so confused, those pictures of Sam branded in his mind making him feel things for his brother he never thought- Dean shook his head and climbed out of the car, fishing for the room key in his pocket, backs of his knuckles grazing those slick pages making heat flare low in his belly. This was bad. Really, _really_ bad.

"Where the hell have you-" Sam started, bitch-face quickly melting into a look of concern as he caught sight of Dean's arm in a sling. "What happened?"

Dean couldn't look his brother in the eye, was ridiculously grateful for multiple layers of clothes hiding Sam's body away from view, felt a distinct wave of jealously for it ever having been on display for the world at large to see – especially when Sam had become such a prude at the age of thirteen and started covering himself up. Dean hadn't seen Sam in less than a t-shirt and jeans since that one time in Atlanta when Sam was fifteen and got attacked by that harpy, requiring seven stitches to close a gash across his back.

"Dean?" Sam was closer, well into Dean's personal space, worry wrinkling his brow.

Dean stared at his brother then, took in those hazel eyes and the slant of his nose, the shape of his mouth... He turned away, hand of his good right arm pressed to his eyes. "It's nothing, Sam, just got hurt on the job last night."

"I told you you should've taken me with," Sam said, hint of smugness coloring his tone.

"Was a one-man job. Didn't need help."

"You obviously did. What happened?"

"Freaking Casper the Not-So-Friendly Ghost. Bastard pushed me out a window."

"Dean!"

"Just a sprain and sore elbow. Be good as new in a week or two, according to the doctor."

"What are you gonna tell Dad?"

"Not gonna tell Dad a thing," he said, starting to shrug out of his jacket and somehow managing to get tangled in the damn sling in the process.

Sam snorted a laugh and moved to help his hopeless brother, large hands slipping under the collar of Dean's coat to pull it out from beneath the strap of the sling and carefully assisting the removal of the jacket. Dean made to pull his arm from the sling once Sam was holding his coat. "What are you doing?"

"What the hell does it _look_ like I'm doing? I'm taking the damn thing off."

"You can't," Sam said, tossing Dean's jacket over his arm. "You won't heal right if you don't do what the doctor says."

One of Dean's eyebrows drew up. "I think I know my own body and its limits better than some quack. It's not even that bad. I'll just take a couple of ibuprofen or something."

"It was bad enough for you to go to the hospital without _telling_ me," Sam reminded him, both of his eyebrows raised, bitch-face back in place.

"Whatever. I've been hurt worse. I'll be fine."

"Keep the sling on." Sam made to hang Dean's coat over the back of one of the chairs at the room's rickety table where Sam's second-hand, pawn-shop laptop sat open when the folded magazine pages fell out of Dean's coat pocket. He reached down to retrieve them, stilling in an awkward, half-stooped position when he realized what he was holding.

So much for not having to discuss it with Sam, Dean thought, preparing himself for whatever argument or fight was surely to follow.

"Where did you get this?" Sam had drawn himself up to nearly his full height, back still to Dean, shoulders slumped.

"Magazine in the waiting room. Wanna tell me where you found the time for that? Or what the hell you were thinking when you- when you did it? 'Cause I can't think of a single reason why you'd break Dad's rules – not that you've ever been one to follow them. But we're supposed to keep a low-profile, Sam, you can't just-"

"I needed the money." Sam ducked his head, shoulders slumping even further.

Dean scoffed. "For what? There's nothing you need that I can't get you."

Sam dropped Dean's coat in the chair, fingers still curled loosely around the magazine pages. "School."

"What?"

"For college." Sam finally turned to face Dean and he almost looked scared.

Dean felt his stomach drop. "What?"

"I don't expect you to understand. But this woman came up to me that time when we were in New York when I was sixteen, said she could get me an interview at the modeling agency she worked for. So I went. They pretty much hired me on the spot. Had to use that fake ID you got for me that said I was eighteen and she sent me out on a few jobs the week I was there."

"I don't want to- why are you telling me this, Sam?"

"Because I hated keeping it from you."

Dean shook his head. "Never should've gone to the hospital. Wish I never knew."

"Remember when you and Dad found me in Flagstaff? When I ran away? It was because I had a job in LA. I stopped a few other places on the way there – they gave me a stipend – and I ran out of money halfway back. So I stayed put in Flagstaff and it was nice."

"Just stop, Sam. Stop. I don't want to hear anymore. You're gonna stop doing this and we're not gonna talk about it again." He tore the sling over his head, trying his damnedest to ignore the shooting pain in his elbow with the movement, and brushed past Sam to grab his jacket as he headed back out the door. He dug the keys to the Impala out of his pocket, boots crunching through the frozen crust atop the snow as he made a beeline for the car; he climbed inside and headed for the nearest bar, regardless of the hour.

**oxo**

They both held up their end of the bargain, never spoke of what was supposed to be Sam's short-lived modeling career, but Sam went away to Stanford half a year later and it was only a couple months after that that Dean came across images from a new Calvin Klein campaign that featured his brother. But Sam's body was more defined – deeper cut-lines, distinguished abs – and _Dean's_ body reacted in the same alarming way it had the first time, except this time, the heat the images of his half-naked brother sparked in him was more of an inferno. And he couldn't stand it, that feeling – knew there was only one way to make it stop.

There was a knock on Sam's dorm-room door, interrupting the game of Halo he was playing with Brady, his roommate. "You expecting somebody?"

Brady shook his head, "Nah. You?"

"Me either."

"You gonna get it?"

"You gonna pause the game?"

Brady was quiet for a moment. "I suppose."

"Don't kill me." Sam tossed his controller onto the couch and gave Brady a look before heading for the door. Dean standing on the other side was the very last thing he ever expected to see. "Uh, hey. What are you doing here?"

"Can I talk to you?" There was something almost distressed in Dean's expression, the pitch and roughness of his voice, that struck Sam.

"You okay? Is Dad okay?"

"Sam?" Brady called from further in their room, his view of Dean blocked by the door Sam held half-open. "Who is it?"

"It's my brother. I gotta- I'll be right back." Sam reached for a sweatshirt that had been abandoned over the back of his desk chair.

"What about our game?"

"Go ahead with out me. I'll be back in a few." Sam ushered Dean out the door and into the hall. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked, leading Dean outside.

"I thought I told you to stop. You got a full-ride – it's not like you need the money," Dean whispered harshly, following Sam down a flight of stairs and past the desk in the main lobby, then out the front door.

Sam stopped. "Why are you _really_ here, Dean? You didn't drive all the way out here to yell at me, did you?"

"Just quit it, okay? I'm not gonna tell you again."

"Or what? What are you gonna do, Dean? Hmm?" Sam stepped closer, closer than he needed to be, closer than they should ever be in public.

Dean felt his mouth go dry being able to see in his mind's eye just what Sam looked like under those layers just inches away from Dean's own covered skin. "Just stop."

"Why did you keep those pictures, Dean? If you hadn't kept them, we probably never would've had that argument, 'cause I know how you like to bury things."

"You still would've left, so what's it matter?"

Sam tilted his head, leaned slightly towards Dean. "Why'd you keep those pictures?"

"What are you doing?" He could feel Sam's breath on his mouth, unconsciously swiped his tongue across his lower lip.

A small sound from Sam, half grunt, half groan, gaze focused on Dean's mouth before his gaze flicked up to his brother's eyes. He didn't answer with words but with the press of his lips to Dean's.

Dean's hands fisted in the front of Sam's hoodie, unsure of whether he was going to shove him away or pull him closer and just ended up holding him right where he was. "What the fuck, Sam?"

"I have eyes, Dean. I saw the way you looked at me – same way you're looking at me now. It's why you're here," he said, ducking his head back down towards Dean's, lips brushing, "isn't it?"

Dean's fingers tightened against the cotton clenched in his fists, pulled Sam intimately close and crushed their mouths together. Sam knew what he was doing, which buttons of Dean's to push, the whole time.

Sam pulled away. "Where're you staying?"

"Sam."

"Dean. Where?"

"Motel on 280."

"Let's go." Sam could see the gleam of the Impala's slick, black paint in the parking lot across the street, pushed Dean ahead of him.

"A little fast, you think?" Dean had no idea where he'd lost the upper hand in this whole mess, but he couldn't help following Sam across the street regardless.

There was something of a challenge glittering in Sam's eyes as he cast a glance over his shoulder at his brother, overgrown bangs flopping across his forehead, dimple deepening in his cheek as he grinned. "Not fast enough."

Inside the Impala, Sam was all hands and teeth and tongue as Dean fumbled to get the key in the ignition. He gave up for a minute, kissed Sam back with fingers of his left hand wound into Sam's hair. "This really happening?"

Sam laughed against Dean's neck, gently bit the skin beneath his ear and soothed it with his tongue. "Yeah. Now, c'mon. Let's go."

It took everything Dean had to not press the gas pedal down to the floor or pull over to the side of the street to just get his mouth back on Sam's. Yet they made it back to Dean's motel without a speeding ticket or any kind of indecent public exposure, and Dean dug his room key out of his jeans pocket with Sam pressed warm up against his back. "Shit, Sam," he nearly growled as his brother's hands gripped his hips to pull his ass against Sam's pelvis and, oh- Sam was _hard._ But, so was Dean, erection straining against his zipper painfully as he turned the key in the lock and shoved the door open only to be shoved inside by Sam. He didn't stop the manhandling there, stripped Dean of his coat and overshirt all at once and pushed him down onto the nearest bed.

The challenge that had been in Sam's eyes became something dangerous and he tugged his hoodie and t-shirt over his head in one swift movement before moving between Dean's spread thighs. "Like what you see?" he questioned, voice rough, gaze smoldering, blunt fingernails dragging against Dean's scalp as Sam's hands ran through his hair to the back of his head, one large palm cradling his skull.

Dean's hands slipped up Sam's jean-clad thighs and he scooted to the edge of the mattress to press his mouth against Sam's stomach, let his tongue trace the ridges of Sam's abdominal muscles. This. Fuck, _this_ is what he'd been thinking about since that freezing Chicago morning in a crowded hospital waiting room. The thought of _this_ is what had gotten him through the countless lonely nights he'd tried to forget since Sam abandoned him for college. "Fuck, Sammy," he breathed, nipping at the thin skin that curved over Sam's hip bone as his hands moved to Sam's ass.

Sam's hands moved, too, slid down the back of Dean's neck, fingers clenching in Dean's tee and pulling it up over his brother's head, then Sam was on him, pushing him down to the mattress and straddling his thighs, mouth hot on Dean's throat and working lower. Scraping trail of teeth and soothing tongue across Dean's chest, gentle tug and swirl of tongue to each nipple as he moved, a taste of Dean's bellybutton, then Sam's hands were undoing the fly of his brother's jeans, tugging them down along with his boxer-briefs, cock springing free, and Sam made quick work of Dean's boots and socks, leaving Dean naked on the bed. Sam bit at his bottom lip, eyes roaming the pale, freckle-dusted expanses of his brother's body. "Dean," he sighed, shaking his head. "Look at you." He still held Dean's left foot in his hand, brought Dean's leg up and pressed a kiss to the knob on the inside of his ankle. "Like this, for me." Sam gently dropped Dean's leg back to the mattress and moved his hands to the button and zipper of his brother's jeans.

Dean sat up. "No," he said, his hands covering Sam's. "Let me."

Sam kicked out of his sneakers while Dean undid the button and tugged down the zipper of his jeans, letting the well-worn cotton slip down his thighs to pool at his feet. He kicked those away, too, and hooked his thumbs in the elastic band of his underwear, but Dean stilled him again. "What?"

Dean shook his head, looking up at Sam from under surprisingly dark eyelashes. "Just like seeing you like this." His hands smoothed down the fine-haired, bare skin of Sam's flanks and he leaned in, mouthed Sam's dick through taut, precome-damp cotton.

"Holy fuck, Dean," Sam gasped, arching towards the heat of his brother's mouth. "Fucking tease."

Dean chuckled, gripping Sam's hips firmly as he sat up straighter. "_I'm_ the tease? You and your fucking pictures. The entire _world_ got to see you like this before I ever did. I got pretty friendly with the internet when you left, found some of the pictures from your first jobs – when you were sixteen? And, Jesus, the look on your face."

Sam pushed none-too-gently at Dean's shoulders and followed him down to the mattress, aligning their bodies, Dean's breath leaving his lungs in a harsh exhale at the contact, Sam taking advantage of his open mouth, plundering the wet, slick heat with his tongue.

Dean spread his thighs wider and thrust up against Sam.

"Thought about you, you know," Sam said, easily maneuvering out of his boxer-briefs from the position they were in and carelessly tossing them to the floor, mouth latching back onto Dean's for a quick, dirty kiss. "They wanted _sex,_ wanted this debauched look, and I'd think of you, your hands on me, your mouth on me." He slipped two of his fingers into Dean's mouth. "Fuck, your _mouth._"

Dean sucked at Sam's fingers, tasted salt and skin, moaned at the words falling from his brother's mouth. Chased after the digits when Sam withdrew them, gasping in surprise and overwhelming want when they slipped between his spread thighs to press against his tight hole. Sharp intake of breath as Sam pushed inside, burn and stretch of skin and muscle, and it hurt. Pain edged with pleasure when Sam pressed a little further, twisted and scissored his fingers until he was brushing against that _spot_, and that pleasure, the delicious heat of it, slowly started to eclipse the pain as Sam's fingers moved and, yeah, _right there._ "You done this before, Sammy?"

"Not a kid anymore, Dean. Done a few things you don't know about." Sam added another finger, worked them in and out of his brother until Dean was nothing more than a writhing, moaning mass beneath him.

"Now," Dean panted, "_now,_ Sam."

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean. I got you." He dropped his mouth back down to Dean's, bit at his brother's full bottom lip, tugged and teased it, pulling his fingers from Dean's body to press the head of his cock against Dean's loosened hole. He changed the angle of his hips slightly as he moved past the barest of resistance, slipping inside, friction and heat, the flutter of smooth muscles around him as he sank into his brother's body. His left hand trailed down Dean's side, grazed ribs and hip and thigh, hand grasping behind the knee and pulling Dean's leg up to put his calf on Sam's shoulder as Sam started rocking into him, seeking the right rhythm, thrusting rough and deep, drawing quiet moans from his brother.

"Oh, God." Dean gripped Sam's hair with one hand, his achingly hard dick with the other, matching his pace to Sam's. "Jesus, _fuck._" He arched his back, trying to take Sam impossibly deeper, head tipped back to reveal the long, pale column of his throat.

Sam leaned forward, teeth and tongue finding the pulse of Dean's jugular, biting bruises into the thin flesh. "So good," Sam mouthed against Dean's jaw, faint growth of stubble abrasive against his lips. Sam repeated the action, felt the rasp, skin catching and dragging, then his mouth was on Dean's, a slow counterpoint to the movement of his hips, bending his brother nearly in half but Dean just braced his other foot on the mattress near Sam's knees and met Sam thrust for thrust best he could.

"Fuck, Sam. Oh." His hand still moved in the tight space between their bodies, backs of his knuckles grazing Sam's tensed abs, more friction, more heat. Then Sam's hand was there, too, and that was it, Dean coming between them and apart beneath Sam.

"Look at me," Sam breathed harshly, left hand keeping Dean's leg on his shoulder while his right moved to Dean's hip as he leaned back, took more of his weight on his knees. "Look at me."

So Dean did, opened pupil-blown green eyes, gaze meeting and holding Sam's. He reached a hand for Sam's hip, the other fisting in the worn blanket beneath him. "Come on, Sam."

Sam's thrusts became more erratic, shallower, as he sought his orgasm, pleasure building until he was desperate for his release. But something- something was missing. There was something he needed. "Tell me," he begged.

"Tell you...?" Dean's fingers faltered on Sam's hip as Sam's dick grazed that oversensitive bundle of nerves and Dean's own softening cock gave a half-hearted twitch of interest.

"Tell me to come."

And fuck, if Dean hadn't already come, he would have come from that. "Yeah, Sammy. Come on, come for me."

Dean's voice, Dean giving him an order, that did it; that pushed him over the edge. A couple more deep thrusts and he was coming hard, spilling hot inside his brother. He breathed raggedly, shaking, carefully pulled free from Dean's body and collapsed beside him on the rumpled comforter.

Dean pushed Sam's sweaty, lank hair out of his face, pressed his body closer and closed his mouth over Sam's with a fervor that belied the lethargy weighing the rest of him down. Sam returned the kiss, hands moving over Dean's body, mapping curves and planes and angles.

"You're not gonna freak out and run away, are you?" Sam asked after a while, pulling away from Dean until they were no longer touching.

"Not a chance in hell. Not going anywhere."

"Does that mean you're going to stay?"

He knew what Sam was asking, wasn't sure he could give an honest answer. Instead, he replied with a question of his own. "You want me to? I'm not gonna fuck up your _normal_ life? Because this," he gestured between the two of them, "this is about as far from normal as you can get."

Sam nodded slowly and started to get up. "I understand."

Dean sat up, too, feeling the distance Sam was putting between them like a physical ache. "What, exactly, do you understand, Sam?"

"You don't want to stay. It's okay, I get it." He pushed off the bed slowly, stretching sore muscles.

"No, you don't. I want this, whatever _this_ is, with you. I want _you_, Sam. But you left me and Dad because school was your dream. A life without hunting... And- I can't change who I am. And I'm a hunter. _Hunter_ and _normal_ just don't mix."

"I don't _need_ normal. I just need you."

It shouldn't have been that easy, but it was. Sure, they had plenty more to discuss, but everything else was just details. Everything else would fall into place. "We'll figure it out. Just- come back here."

Sam moved back over to the bed and sank down to the mattress. "We'll be okay?"

"We'll be okay," Dean assured, fingers curling behind Sam's neck to pull their mouths together. "We'll be okay."

It was enough, as much of a promise or a commitment as Sam could ever hope to get from his brother. Dean had never denied him anything, probably would've followed Sam to Stanford if he had asked, but Dean only would've resented him for it in the end for making him have to choose between Sam and their father. But this was a choice Dean was making on his own, for himself, and, now that Sam had him, he wasn't going to let him go.


End file.
